“Well…” The smirk deepened and he took a sauntering step towards her, letting his eyes linger on her supple breasts. “It’s worked so far.”

She slapped him. She hit him so hard, square across the face, that the sound resonated off the high windows of the Long Gallery like a pistol shot. But Edward’s face showed only momentary shock, shock which quickly turned to ferocious intent. He brought his hand up as fast as lightning to grip her across the chin, his fingers and thumb digging into her tender skin. Her eyes widened in alarm as he moved in, heated and malevolent.

“Oh no, my lady.” He leant down, his eyes searing into hers, his hot, sweet breath dangerous against her lips. “You love yer fury, don’t you? You crave all that rage and passion. You might live in this grand house with all yer fine clothes and yer fine pretences, but inside you’re as hollow as a shrivelled nut shell. You need me to shake up yer stagnant, grey little life. And you don’t want to lose it. You can’t bear the thought of me leaving you all alone with that great stinking bastard you call a husband. You wanted to see what it was like, didn’t you? The sting on yer palm when you strike.” With that he spun her around with brute force. “Lean on the desk. Palms flat on it.”

“Not here. Damn you, Marham. Someone will see.”

“They’re finished here for the day. Now shut yer mouth and wait.”

He threw her skirts up over her hips, revealing a naked backside—she wore no drawers at his behest. And he made her wait. For long moments, minutes even, he simply stood in silence while she lay before him, hands flat on the table, her rump exposed, waiting for his touch. …